


Samsara

by ThePieIsALie



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed III, F/M, First Civilization, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, sage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9581849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePieIsALie/pseuds/ThePieIsALie
Summary: In 2012, the Assassins uncovered the genetic data of Connor Kenway, an Assassin during the American Revolution.In 2017, the Templars discovered new genetic data of Connor's life, years after the assassination of Charles Lee, and discovered the existence of a woman with Heterochromia, bearing two seperate eye colors. A female Sage.(Samsara refers to the act of being reborn. It is also of synonym of Reincarnation.)





	1. Origin

Although only male Sages had been identified by 2015, the Assassins believed that there was a small chance that the recessive gene creating a Sage could also manifest itself in a female individual.

According to Abstergo, while the genome of an average human contains 0.0002% to 0.0005% of First Civilization DNA, the concentration reaches from 5% to 6% in the genome of Sages and are therefore highly sought after by both factions. 

 

January 26th 2017- Abstergo Industries

The Abstergo employee had been tasked with sifting through the additional memories of Connor Kenway, ancestor of Sample 17. But, it was tedious work as the Assassins had already gone through these memories and the employee felt as if their skills were being wasted. 

The memories they were going through took place several years after Connor had assassinated Charles Lee and long after he had found the Apple. The employee leaned their head in the palm of their hands and sighed as a new set of memories was loaded onto the Animus server. 

As the day passed, the memories the employee experienced got increasingly interesting. Eventually the employee felt a surge of excitement as they realized they had found something of value. They reached behind their computer and pressed a button, calling over the supervisor of the team. The supervisor walked terribly slow, as if he couldn't possibly be bothered to see what the employee had found buried in Connor’s life. Finally, the supervisor stopped at the desk and placed a large, beefy hand on the desktop. 

“Have you found something?” the supervisor inquired

“Yes sir.” the employee replied. “I believe it will be of interest to Doctor Gramatica.”

The supervisor’s eyebrows shot up. A request for Doctor Gramatica was rare, and had to be of utmost importance for the company to be of any interest for such a big shot. He shoved the employee to the side and promptly took a seat, reviewing what the employee had found. 

Eventually, he stepped back from the screen. It was silent for several beats.

“I’ll let Doctor Gramatica know what you’ve found.” the supervisor said at last. He turned and began to walk away, but stepped to face the employee. 

“Good find, kiddo.” he said, leaving the beaming employee to finish their work. 

 

December 15th 1786  
“Come on!” you urged your firewood. “Light!” But the wood was too wet and you couldn't warm up your frigid cabin.

You padded across your room to pull open the chest where you stored your firewood. A few small pieces of very dry wood sat at the bottom of the chest, but it was otherwise sparse. You groaned and shut the lid. It was still snowing heavily outside and you didn’t dare venture outside to try and cut some more wood. This would have to do. 

You made your way back to the fireplace, your woolen stockings making a light scratching noise. You gathered the small pieces of dry wood with the wet wood and blew on it gently. Finally it lit and you slid back on your feet, enjoying the warmth of the fire. 

From outside, once the howling wind had quieted, you could hear heavy steps in the crunch of the snow. Almost immediately, you're paranoid brain began to come up with unlikely reasons for the footsteps. 

It was a bear, you were sure of it.

Oh no, your mother was right. Moving out to an isolated cabin on the Frontier between Boston and New York was a terrible idea. 

A heavy, harsh knock sounded at your cabin door. Hesitantly, you pulled open the door and peeked out, poking your nose out, and keeping your weight on the door, just in case. After all, what kind of madman would be out wandering in this weather? 

It was almost a bear, per se, because he could easily be mistaken as one. A man was on the other side of the door, clutching his bleeding waist, one hand leaning his weight on your doorframe. Hastily you pulled open your door, and his whole weight collapsed into your arms. 

His black head of hair fell into the crook of your neck, just underneath your chin. He seemed to be bleeding profusely from his stomach, staining the white of his robes. You shut the door and pull him towards your bed. Often, you’d have to take breaks to relieve your straining muscles. 

His breathing is ragged and he’s losing a lot of blood. You aren't totally sure how to help, so your hands hover above his wound for a few seconds, before your brain kicks in. His robes have several layers, so you just start unbuttoning random articles of clothing. You pull the fabric over his shoulders but leave it below his wound, so as to conserve the man’s modesty. The wound looks terrible. You can’t tell how deep it is, or where it even originates from, because of the amount of blood pouring out. You grab a cloth from the nearby basin and try to clean out the wound but you realize it won’t do anything unless you stop the bleeding first. 

You run over to your closet and pull out a raggedy dress. You rip a small amount of the fabric, enough to wrap around his torso. The blood begins to stain the fabric immediately. Thank goodness the man was unconscious, because you wouldn't want to be awake for this. After you placed more fabric on the wound and was satisfied the pressure would hold, you collapsed into a chair next to the bed. 

You weren't sure how late it was, but you were already tired. It got dark so early now that it was winter. The man was still breathing, and you watched the blankets rise and fall in time with his breaths. You didn’t want to fall asleep, in case he woke up. 

But, as these things usually go, you did fall asleep. However, you did wake up quite sharply when you remembered the man in your bed. You wished he’d wake up soon so you could refer to him as something other than ‘the man’. You got up to pull away his makeshift bandage, pulling it away from his skin as gently as possible. 

He suddenly grabbed your wrist, and stared at you for several seconds, watching you with dark, hazy eyes. You stood with your own eyes wide, your hands on his stomach, until he let out a small weak groan, and fell back onto the pillows. The wound seemed to be well enough that you could wash it. You gently passed the cloth over his stomach, washing away the dark blood. 

Ducking into your cupboard, you pulled out a homemade salve your mother used to treat you with when you got sick or hurt. You weren't sure if it would help the wound, but it was better than nothing. You applied the salve and re-wrapped it. The man grunted again in his fever-induced sleep, and you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.  
Again, you fell asleep. And, again, the same woman began to call out to you. It was always the same woman. She had dark hair and a strange headpiece and dress. She would always say the name ‘Aita’ calling out to them over and over. Sometimes you wondered if you were perhaps going crazy.

The woman called herself Juno, and she would often babble about ‘the First Civilization.’ She had a strange, haunting voice that echoed through your head.  
“Aita, my love. He’s here. Follow him.” She spoke to you directly, and images began to flash through your mind. A young native boy was crying and shouting while running through a village. The same native boy traversing the Frontier and meeting an older man, hunched over a cane. The boy, older now, dressed in the robes you’ve seen on the man in your bed. The man holding a golden ball in his hands as it began to glow. You’d seen the ball before, in memories you yourself had never experienced.  
The dreams had started not long ago, shortly after you moved out on the Frontier. But they weren’t dreams. They were... memories. But not yours. They always came when Juno visited you calling out ‘Aita’ and holding out her arms, bidding you to her.

Once, the memories you saw were of a man, tied up to a stake as flames licked at his feet, shouting what you assumed were curses in French. A man dressed in old, lavish clothing looked on, watching the man burn. 

Another was a man shoving messages into bottles and hiding them on sandy beaches. But the strange thing is, you can remember writing those very messages. But, not as you. Shortly after that, you saw another person, a pirate you assumed, traversing large seas accompanied by another pirate with messy blonde hair. 

Most recently, another Frenchman, hunched over a desk, writing furiously. 

You’ve see all of their faces and they almost all resemble you, with two different eye colors. But you know who they are, you know their names. But you’ve never met them. It’s terribly hard to describe, one of the main reasons you’ve never spoken about it to anyone. 

There are other memories too, some from places so ancient you’ve only heard of them from old heavy books. Somehow, they all tie back to this woman, Juno, you’re sure of it. Perhaps the man on your bed will help you solve this mystery. 

You pull away from Juno and away from the web of your dream. You take a few moments to gather your senses and straighten up in your chair. The man is shivering and sweaty and you know that he has a fever. You wet a clean cloth and placed it over his forehead, mumbling things to him so he’d know he wasn’t alone. However, you weren’t sure he heard you. Sometimes, you would read him excerpts from 'The vicar of Wakefield.'

By the third day of your constant watch and care for him, his fever broke and his wound began to show signs of healing. You were sitting by the window in the room. When your breath hit the glass, it would form a thin sheet of condensation. You'd been trying to redraw the strange ball of golden metal you'd seen in your dreams. You heard a pained grunt and then a gasp of someone letting out a long breath. The man was propped up on the pillow with his hand over his wound, staring at you. 

"Hello." you said uncertainly. 

"Hello." he replied, still staring at you intensely. You realized he must be staring at your eyes, and you ducked your head. Most people saw them as a flaw that ruined your beauty but a few thought your eyes were a curse. You hoped he didn't think either one. 

His gaze shifted to the window and his face changed from apathy to realization.

"Do you know what that is?" you asked, shifting forward in your chair. 

He didn't say anything, instead opting to change the subject. "Where did you find me?" 

"You knocked at my door about three days ago, bleeding from a wound in your stomach." you paused. "I thought you were a bear." you said shyly. 

You could swear the man got a small incredulous smile on his face. 

"Do you know how you were wounded?" you asked.

"An animal attack." He said shortly.

You didn't push him, but you knew there was more to the story then he was letting on. The wound he had received was intentional, a provoked attack. And, while you had undressed him, you had noticed several scars covering his chest, hands and face. 

The two of you lapsed into silence. "What's your name?" you finally asked. 

"Connor." he spoke the name softly, like he didn't quite believe himself. 

"It's nice to meet you Connor."


	2. Alva the Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm pretty hyped, cause I've planned for Connor to visit London and the Caribbean and get a sense of who his grandfather was. Also, sorry if this was a boring chapter, but I had to get them outta that cabin!

When you were young, you and your friends would play in your yard. Your Papa had just brought back three beautiful dolls from England and the three of you were gleefully playing with the dolls. In the backyard, (behind the fields) there was a clearing. Then, heavy dense woods. Further in the woods was where Alva the Crow lived. Papa said she was eccentric, but if you didn’t bother her, she wouldn't bother you. So, Alva lived on your property in her run down shack, with only the woodland creatures to keep her company. 

Eventually your childhood friend, Hettie, threw down the doll and announced she didn’t want to play with dolls anymore. 

“Well, what would you like to do, then?” Elizabeth asked. She was always the peacemaker. 

Hettie got a mischievous glint in her eyes, the kind that only brings on trouble. “We should visit Alva the Crow.” she said in a whisper. 

You shook your head vehemently. “Papa says we shouldn't go back there. He says Alva is elderly, and we mustn't be a bother.” you tried to sound clever so Hettie would take you seriously. 

Hettie stood up abruptly. “Well I’m going.” she stated, and stomped off towards the woods. Elizabeth stood up and brushed herself off. She gave you an apologetic look before darting off towards Hettie. 

You sighed, staring at the pile of dolls on the ground, all twisted up with each other. Hesitating, you glanced towards the farmhouse, and then back to the woods. You didn’t want Hettie to be mad at you, so you ran after them. 

The ground was covered in loose branches and you had to be very careful not to fall and ruin your dress. When one was alone, the woods seemed so much scarier, you had decided. 

“Hettie? Elizabeth?” you called softly. You weren't sure what was worse. Getting lost in these woods, or getting out again and having to face the wrath of papa.

Still, you trudged on. 

Eventually you caught sight of Hettie and Elizabeth. “You came!” Elizabeth clapped her hands twice. 

Hettie slapped Elizabeth’s hands away. “Shh! We don’t want Alva to know we are here!” she hissed. 

“Why not?” You asked, curious. 

Hettie stared at you. “She doesn’t live anywhere near town. How can she purchase food? Perhaps, she just waits for unsuspecting children to come near her and-” 

Hettie reached out and gripped Elizabeth’s shoulder tightly, and Elizabeth squealed

“I’m starting to think this wasn’t the best of ideas.” Elizabeth whispered, trembling. 

Hettie shrugged. “We’ve made it this far.” Hettie was never one for giving up early, you recalled. 

The three of you soon got close enough to spot Alva’s shack. You hid behind some bushes, and hoped it was enough to shield you from Alva’s gaze. Alva was outside. Her grey hair had been pulled back into a tight bun. Everything about Alva’s face was tight. Her eyes were squinty, her mouth was pulled into a straight line. Even her skin was stretched tightly over her bones. She muttered to herself. 

Curiously, you moved closer, trying to distinguish what she was saying. There was a crunch under your boot and you looked up in horror. She hadn’t noticed you. You craned your head, looking for Hettie and Elizabeth. They’d taken off when the branch cracked under your boot and were frantically running towards the clearing. Pinpricks of sweat stung your armpits and you realized you were all alone with Alva the Crow.

You turned your head again, to see if you could spot Alva. Depending on where she was, you could make a safe, swift exit. 

Your wide eyes stared straight into the eyes of Alva. Eyes that were as dark and unforgiving as a crow’s wings. You gasped and jumped back. Alva reached out with her bony wrinkled hands and clasped your face. 

“Your eyes, child.” Alva whispered, her voice strangely clear and crisp. “The color of earth and water. You are different. But not blessed.” 

You reached up and tried to pull her hands off of your face, but she gripped tighter. “You must take care! You will meet someone. Someone important. Your actions will lead us to liberty. Or death.” She released your face and stepped back. 

You wasted no time bolting away from Alva the Crow, shoving past hanging branches. 

“You must take care, child!” Alva called once more. You burst out of the woods and away from the inky eyes of Alva the Crow. 

 --

 

You sat up straight in your chair. Sometimes, memories would flood your brain, and you’d be nearly immobile until they passed.  _ At least this memory was your own _ . 

Once you were in the safety of the farmhouse you had tried to make sense of Alva’s prophecy. It never had. And yet, this man, Connor. Perhaps he was the someone Alva spoke of. Even Juno spoke of Connor like he was terribly important. 

The cabin door swung open and Connor entered, carrying a pile of wood he’d just chopped. Although the blizzard had stopped and some of the snow had melted, Connor still seemed… Almost hesitant to leave. 

Connor dumped the wood in the chest and looked at you. Your hair was slightly disheveled and you seemed flustered. “Are you alright?” he asked in a gruff voice. 

You waved his concerns off. “Yes, yes. Thank you.” you paused. “May I check your wound?” 

He nodded his consent and you tugged at the hem of his shirt, bunching up the fabric so he could hold the excess. The wound was healing nicely. Some scar tissue was beginning to from, but luckily, no sign of infection was present. 

You hovered your fingers over the healing skin, and you saw his abdominal muscles tense. You couldn’t help but also notice the dark trail of hair that led beneath his trousers. Hastily you withdrew your hand and chastised yourself. How unladylike of you to think such thoughts. 

Satisfied with your healing skills you pulled the shirt back down and stepped back. 

You gestured to the pot that was cooking over a fire. “Would you like some dinner?” Connor nodded. 

That was how most of your conversations went. Civil, never revealing anything personal, and above all- safe. 

Now, you decided you’d had enough of civil conversations. Nobody really communicated _anything_ in civil conversations. 

Still, you decided you should start with a basic question.

“If I may ask, where did you grow up?” 

“Kanatahséton” he replied. The word rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. You didn’t dare repeat the word, for fear of ruining its beauty. 

“Is that...Iroquois?” you tried your luck. Connor nodded. 

“Where did  _ you _ grow up?” Connor asked

“South New York.” you replied, plucking at a loose thread on your dress. You decided to push the conversation a little further. 

“Is… Connor your real name?” you pressed hesitantly. 

“No. I doubt you’d be able to pronounce my real name.” he said it simply, not as an insult but as a simple fact.

“The dream you experienced. You kept muttering a name.” Connor started.

“Alva? It wasn’t a dream. Sometimes, I get these memories of my past.” you said quickly. You hoped Connor didn’t think you were crazy.

“Alva…” Connor said slowly. “Alva the Crow?” 

Your eyes widened. “You knew her?” 

Connor shook his head. “Only by reputation. Did you see this symbol anywhere around her?” he asked, showing you a pouch with a sigil stitched on the front. It resembled a triangle with two outwards squares boxing it in. Almost like a hood of some sort. 

You nodded excitedly. “Yes! She had that very symbol stitched on the sleeve of her dress!” 

Connor leaned forward in his chair. “When you have these… memories, are they sometimes accompanied by a woman with dark hair, wearing white clothing?”

Was he asking about Juno? Did he know Juno? 

“Yes! Have you met her as well?” you said. Perhaps you would finally unravel this mystery.

“You’re a sage.” Connor muttered, barely audible. 

“Pardon?” you question. 

Connor gently holds your chin in his hands and tilts your face towards some light. “Your eyes. Like earth and water.” 

You pull back from his grasp. Exactly what Alva had said. 

Connor asks if you are comfortable there. Then he begins to explain.

He tells you of a brotherhood, who calls themselves Assassins. They are bound by a creed and have promised to keep mankind free. He speaks of a man named Achilles, who taught him all he knows. He says that Alva was an Assassin, but she learned something so great that she’d disappeared one day, and never returned. He says that the Assassins have been locked in a war with another group known as the Templars. He says that he is an Assassin.

Soon, he begins to say things you already know. Things about the First Civilisation, about Juno. Then he tells you the Assassins were told of someone, with eyes like water and earth. Someone who would be vital to keeping the peace.

“You think that it’s me?” you squeak and Connor nods. “Will you help?”

You take a deep breath and glance around your sparse cabin. There’s nothing here for you now. 

“Yes.” you say.

\--

Later that night, Connor insists he is more comfortable on the floor, so you take the bed. You are just about to fall into a deep sleep when Connor speaks. 

“Ratonhnhaké:ton” he whispers to the darkness. “That is my true name.” 

 


	3. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot the Aquila is here.

You should have never left your cabin. This was a terrible idea. You groaned and shoved your face into the pillow. It didn't hurt so bad if you curled your hands beneath your stomach.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Miss?” someone called through the door.

“Yes?” came your muffled reply.

“The cap’n would like ta know if you’d like some dinner?” the voice belonged to Harland, a young man on Connor’s ship. 

Dinner certainly wasn’t something you’d been looking forward to, but perhaps the fresh air would do you some good. 

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself out of bed and smoothed the wrinkles from your clothing. When you pulled open the door, you saw that Harland had been waiting for you. You grimaced when the ship went over a particularly rocky wave.

“Haven't got your sea legs yet, missus?” Harland laughed. 

You were  _ going _ to make a clever retort, really you were. Instead, you leaned over the deck and expelled the little food and water you’d eaten before you had left shore. 

Stumbling, the two of you made your way to the dining room.  Two large, wooden tables were stretched out in the room, and sailors were seated about. 

Connor’s cook splatted a pile of food on your tin plate unceremoniously. It didn’t actually look all that bad. 

“What is it?” you whispered to Harland.

“Salamagundi.” Harland gestured to where the cook stood. “It’s the best food you’ll ever get on a ship. It’s a mix of whatever he could use before it went bad. Mostly vegetables and meats.” 

Overall, the meal really wasn’t that bad. All the books you’d read about pirates and sailors had lied. The food truly wasn’t that bad and even better, your stomach pains had all but dissipated. 

You found Connor at the wheel of the ship. “Have you eaten?”

You nodded. “And look! I can almost walk around.” you announced. Hesitantly, you let go of the railing and took a few shaky steps to demonstrate. “It’s a work in progress…” you added. 

Connor gave a curt nod to his nearby helmsman, who took command and began shouting orders. 

As he walked you back to your cabin, he spoke. “I wanted to thank you for doing this.” he said, crossing his hands behind his back. You distinctly got the impression this wasn’t something he did often.

“Of course. I’m just as curious as you are.” you waved your hand in the air, gesturing to the open space. “About, Juno. I mean.” you whispered the last part. 

You got to the cabin, and the walk seemed far shorter than it had before. Connor turned to leave.  _ Alright, you could do this.  _ You’d been repeating the syllables over and over in your head, practicing to get the word just right. 

“Goodnight, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” 

Before he turned away, you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

                                                                                                                        --

The Aquila had been on the ocean now for over a month. Sometimes, you thought you knew a great deal about the ocean and how to traverse it. Today, you’d come to the realization that you knew squat about how to be a sailor. 

“Harland?” you’d asked “Why do you use a rock on the deck? Surely it would be more efficient to use a cloth of some sort.” you’d pointed out

Harland stifled a laugh and you tried not to frown. “Miss, we don’t scrub the decks to keep ‘em clean. It’s cause the rain will rot the boards. A bucket of salt water will keep ‘em in better condition.”

He leans forward on his haunches, cupping a hand to his mouth. “Plus, it keeps the lads busy. They don’t fight so much.” 

You nodded pensively. “The captain must trust you very much to keep his ship in good condition.” 

Harland puffs his chest out proudly. “Right you are, miss!” 

Samuel, another sailor walks by whistling and slaps Harland on the back. “Ha! Tryin to impress the lady Harland?” he turns to you. “Only the freshest sailors get assigned to deck duty.”

Samuel shoves his bare feet in your face. “The real good sailors get assigned to the rigging. Need ta be real skilled for that. Plus, it’s easier to climb with bare feet” he says, waggling his toes. 

Harland shoves Samuel out of the way. “Get outta here Sam. She doesn’t want your stink in her face.” 

When Samuel left, you turned to Harland. “Why did you join the Aquila’s crew?” you asked curiously. 

“My family’s in England.” Harland explained. “I’d like to see ‘em again.”

You nodded. “What’s your family’s name?”

“Frye.” he said. “It’s a derivative of the English word free.” Harland recited from memory. 

The cook brought up a barrel of liquid that sloshed around in its confinement. The water looked slightly dark, but you blamed it on the fact that it’d been stored in a barrel for over a month. Besides, you were quite sure that your newly found  sailors’ stomach could take it. 

You brought the cup to your lips and took a sip, and nearly spat it out again. Whatever it was, it certainly was  _ not  _ water. 

Samuel clapped you on the back, laughing. “What is this?” you choked out, staring darkly at the liquid in the cup.

“Diluted wine with some limes. Don’t want to get scurvy, do ya little lady?” Samuel downed his own cup of lime wine. 

No, you certainly didn’t know much about being a sailor. 

“Wait ‘till ya try the Hardtack.” Samuel said, leaning towards you. 

Harland pushed Samuel away from you. “Bugger off, will ya?” 

Samuel sauntered off, laughing. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Harland shook his head apologetically. “His mum didn’t give him enough attention.” 

When dinner was served that evening, you’d found out what Hardtack was. It was a stale, hard biscuit. You’d gotten lucky and had received one that  _ wasn't _ infested with maggots and weevils. 

Luckily, Ratonhnhaké:ton came to save you from your dinner from hell. The sailors quieted down when he came, his large shadow bearing down upon the foul biscuits. He offered you his hand and led you back to your cabin. It had become a routine for him to escort you back to the cabin. 

“We’ll be arriving in a little over a month.” Connor stated. 

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

Connor shook his head. “No. I think my aunt will be able to tell me much about my father and grand-father.”

Well, _ you _ were nervous. Landing in a strange country with a man you barely knew was not something you’d thought you’d be doing soon. But, here you were.

“Right. Neither am I.” 

**The Aquila, One month later**

You awoke to the angry waves beating against the ship. Sheets of rain were hitting the deck.  _ Oh, poor Harland was going to have to scrub the decks very hard tomorrow. _

Despite your brain telling you to stay below decks, you really wanted to see what it looked like during a storm. 

Besides, based on the lack of snoring, you knew the rest of the crew was already on the deck. 

The sky was an angry black, with the occasional streak of lightning flashing through the sky. Connor was at the helm, struggling to keep the ship on course. His quartermaster, Robert Faulkner was shouting orders to the crew, trying to be heard among the torrents of rain. 

Shielding your eyes from the rain, you lifted your head to the rigging. Samuel was up there, feet bare, trying to fix a torn sail. Skilled as he may have been, however, the sail could not be repaired. 

Glancing to the side of the ship, you saw a large, towering wave heading straight for the Aquila. 

_ “Rogue wave!”  _ Faulkner shouted.

“I can see it, Mr. Faulkner.” Connor snapped, his tense nerves obviously getting the better of him. 

From top of the ship, as Connor tried to navigate, you heard a sharp squeal. Snapping your head up, you saw a figure loose their balance from the top of the ship. Their hands flailed at the open air, until they hit the side of the deck. You heard bones crack and the body flopped down into the sea. 

Flipping your gaze back up to the riggings, you realized the figure had been Samuel. Shocked, you ran to the side of the railings, but the body had already been torn under the waves. Connor and Mr. Faulkner hadn't even noticed. 

But Harland had. He was climbing the riggings. He was going to try to fix the sail. You called out to him frantically, telling him to come down, but he couldn't hear you. 

His body was torn away from the sail by the raging wind. He didn’t hit the ship at all and instead fell into the sea. Acting quickly, you grabbed some spare rope used on the sails and threw it over, holding tightly onto the end. A gasping Harland grabbed the end and you began to pull, pressing your feet against the side of the ship for leverage. But you could hardly pull enough to keep his head above water. For a second, you thought you might be pulled over with Harland. A pair of hands wrapped themselves around you, and you realized it was Connor. Both of you were able to pull Harland back on board. “Are you alright?” you asked. The sky was already beginning to clear. 

“Thank you, missus.” came Harland’s gasping reply. “I’ll let our children know how you saved my life.” 

“You do that, Harland.” you pushed a heap of wet hair out of your face, laughing at Harland’s audacity. 

Harland lifted his hand up and pointed ahead. “Look.” he said in a cracked voice. 

You scrambled over to the front of the ship, gripping the slippery railings. The gloomy clouds had cleared, and you could see beautiful, glorious, land. Certainly looked more welcoming than the unforgiving sea. 

You’d arrived in England. 


	4. The True and Unaltered Confessions of Miss Jennifer Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I feel like old lady Jennifer would KINDA be like old lady Toph.

London smelled like piss and shit.

Your father had always spoken about it with great respect, saying it was one of the greatest cities of the world. Of course, he’d always say this in private. To keep his good standing he had to support the Patriots. Frankly, you didn’t support either side. You just wanted everyone to stop fighting over something they could never own. 

But you digress. Here you were, standing on the Aquila, the acrid smell of the streets hitting your nose. You weren't sure you wanted to get off.

The streets were filled with people. Some walked, some took carriages. Most of them didn’t even seem to be aware of the fact they were stepping in puddles that resembled fecal matter. 

Harland stepped by you lugging your trunk. His skinny arms bulged under the weight and you reached out to offer help. He waved you off, quickly grabbing the end of the trunk again as he almost lost his balance. He gave you a cheeky grin and shuffled down the ramp. 

More sailors bustled past you carrying loot and luggage. Another sailor dumped a bucket overboard into the Thames. The bucket contained the… rubbish from the sailors. The brown sludge mixed with the water and you tried not to plug your nose. You didn’t want anyone to think that you were above them. 

Connor was one of the last ones to get off the ship. (Well, other then you of course.) You couldn't help but notice that he didn’t seem to have much trouble carrying his cargo. Your eyes followed him down the ramp, knowing you shouldn’t be thinking what you were thinking but  _ really, _ it would be a sin  _ not _ to admire him. 

“Your trunk was heavy. Much heavier, I’d wager, then what the Captain was carrying.” Harland points out, tearing you out of your thoughts. 

You laughed. Honestly, you weren't sure if Harland was flirting with you because you were the only woman he’d had contact with for over two and a half months or if he genuinely was attempting to… court you. 

“You did a fine job.” you complimented him. “How about a shilling?” you joked teasingly reaching into your pouch. 

Harland leaned towards you with the smuggest grin you’ve ever seen, his eyes half lidded. “How ‘bout a kiss?” he asked.

You snorted and patted him on the shoulder. Connor came by with his normal slightly-agitated-but-keeping-it-under-control face. But maybe with more annoyance than usual?

“Harland, go help load the cargo onto Mr. Attaway’s carriage.” Connor commanded briskly and Harland scampered off without another word. 

“So? Where to first?” You asked, secretly praying he say something along the lines of ‘ _ to a nice feather bed and warm bath.’ _ Sailing was tiring and dirty work. Plus, you had to lift your skirts up every time you took a step to not step in mud and, really, you just wanted to rest.

“I was hoping to find where my father’s sister lives. Perhaps she has answers I have not yet uncovered.”

“You mean your aunt?” You ask unthinkingly. 

Connor pauses, cocking his head slightly. “Yes. I suppose she is.”

“That’s wonderful! Well, while you go and find her, I’ll find lodgings for us.” you say hopefully. 

Connor nods thoughtfully. “I suppose that will work. I will come get you when I find her.” 

“Excellent.” you said, clasping your hands together. “I look forward to our introduction.” 

 

* * *

Nothing was more satisfying than tearing off muddy and filthy clothing and getting into a warm bath. You watched the dirt float to the top of your bathwater and wriggled your toes in content. 

A harsh knock sounded at your room door and some bath water sloshed over the edge as you quickly pushed yourself up. 

“Terribly sorry to bother you, miss.” the shaky voice of the Innkeeper called out. “There’s a- a... man here waiting for you. I… He- would you like us to get rid of him?”

“What? No! I- I’ll meet him.” you cried out, yanking on some clothing. The fabric of your loose blouse stuck to your wet skin. It was annoying, but you didn’t want to leave Connor with the innkeepers longer than necessary. 

“You found her? What’s her name?” you asked excitedly.

“I did. She lives in a manor  on a street named ‘Queen Anne’s square.’ Her name is Jennifer Scott.”

“Did you introduce yourself?” you ask. This Jennifer Scott might know something about Juno, or your past lives. Or at least, you really hoped that was the case. 

He looks mildly horrified at the idea. “No. I was going to wait for you.” 

“Well? Let’s go now!” You said, shrugging on your wool coat.

“Mi’lady, can’t we offer you a cloth to dry and cover your hair?” the innkeeper asked, wringing her hands. 

“Bah.” you said, waving your hand. Connor grinned slightly at your dismissal and the two of you boarded the waiting carriage.

The Kenway house itself was a huge, looming building, guarded by a gate adorned with a small ship figurine. You recognized this ship as the ‘Jackdaw.’ 

“You know, your grandfather killed me.” you stated dully, staring at the ship. “I mean, the past version of me.” you clarified quickly. 

“This house is not unlike Achilles’ manor.” Connor said, all but ignoring your statement. He knocked lightly twice and a stout man in a suit answered. 

“Yes? How may I help you?” he asked in a nasally voice. For a butler, he seemed to have a lot of confidence. 

“We’re here to see Miss Scott.” Connor said, his large form casting a shadow over the butler. 

“I’m sorry, but Miss Scott _hasn’t and isn't_ taking any visitors.” The butler tipped his eyes down at you. “Especially not visitors like the  _ savage _ ."

A bubble of rage fills your stomach and you can feel a blush pass over your face. You clench your fists, ready to unleash a steady stream of cuss words that would make the devil himself gasp. 

“Let them in, Keetch.” A voice says from behind the butler.

It’s an old lady, her hair white and frizzy, hunched over her cane. She beckons Connor over with a wrinkly knuckle. “I knew who you were the second I saw you. You look like him. Haytham, that bastard.” Jennifer speaks fondly of Haytham, despite her harsh words. 

She nods once to me. “Hello.” I wriggle my fingers at her, frankly unsure what to do next. 

“Well come in, sit down.” Jennifer says, waddling over to her sitting room. “Keetch, fetch us some tea.” Keetch nods and scurries out of the room.

“Honestly, I would fire him but I really would hate venturing outside to find another.” Jennifer scowls. “Now, what can I do to help you?” 

“I’d like to know more about my grandfather.” Connor says, leaning forward and putting his elbows to his knees. 

Jennifer sighs “He had his flaws. But he was a good man. I wish he and Haytham would have never gotten mixed up in all this Assassin and Templar stuff.” 

She looks to an empty study just off the main hall. “Perhaps then I’d still have a family.”

Jennifer looks to you with squinty eyes. “Are you an Assassin or Templar, girl?” 

“Um. No.”

“Good.”

“But Connor thinks I’m a sage.” you add helpfully. 

Jennifer looks at you with suspicious eyes. “Then you must be going to the Observatory?”

“Observatory?” you ask, confused.

“Edward mentioned it in his journal. He mentioned sages too. All he ever wanted was to unlock the Observatory’s secrets.” Jennifer says with storytelling fervor. 

“Did he?”

Jennifer blows a gust of air out and looks at her feet. “Unfortunately. It’s what got him killed. You need the blood of a sage to even get the damn thing open.” 

“Er. I’m quite fond of my blood.” you say rubbing your upper arms. 

Jennifer laughed. “Not all of it, darling.” she turns to Connor. “The Observatory is somewhere in the Caribbean. My father had this all written down in a journal. But it’s been lost.”

You shrug and look at Connor. “I’d wager that’s our best bet.” 

Connor gets up to leave and Jennifer holds a hand out to Connor. “Wait! I’d like to talk to you.” she says. He nods and sits back down. 

You wander outside and, despite your brain telling you that perhaps this was a bad idea, you entered the study. 

There were a few scattered objects from Edward Kenway’s time. You picked up a battered tricorn and tilted it in your hands. You wondered how many battles this hat had been through.

You also picked up a glass vial. In it, there was a tiny pinprick of blood cased in the middle. Suddenly, it felt like a huge rock wall had been torn up in your brain and some memories came flooding in. 

The blond pirate- Edward, stood holding a box. Right in front of you. You were holding two flintlock pistols. You shot both at the pirates standing on either side of Edward. They fell to the ground, dead weight. 

“What did you do that for, man?” Edward cried out in a heavy Welsh accent. 

“The Observatory would have driven them insane.” the sage _ \- you- _ defended. 

“Ah!” you cried, dropping the vial like a hot biscuit. You held your head for a few seconds, trying to sort out what you had seen. 

You ran back to where Connor and Jennifer were sitting and speaking. Their heads snapped up at your sudden intrusion. 

“I know where the Observatory is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop making so many references to Syndicate.


	5. Chance's Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some background information on why our protag (you) decided it was a good idea to camp out in the middle of nowhere in the 1700s.

 

“Don’t touch me!” you shouted, wrenching your arm from your father’s painful grasp.

“You are my daughter. You have no right to speak to me that way.” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You snatched your bags from the ground and turned your back on him, stalking angrily towards the door. 

 “I forbid you to go!” your father began to call for your mother in between his shouting at you. “I will not let my only child live in the woods like some _savage_.”

By now, both of you were so angry, it was obvious no consensual compromise could be achieved. 

“It’s no use calling for mother, she was the one who gave me permission to go.” you snapped. You knew you should have just left it at that, but perhaps Hettie’s headstrong behavior had rubbed off on you. You just couldn't seem to back down from an argument.  

Your father shot a poisonous glance at your mother. “I did no such thing!” she defended. She had, but she would never admit it to  _ him. _

She had said “I _ t’s unladylike and a terrible idea, but a woman should be able to make her own decisions. No matter how foolish it might be _ .” That was permission enough, right?

 “If you leave, you will no longer have a family.” he said, his words covered in venom.

“I don’t recall ever having one at all.” you snapped, and stormed out of the house.

Looking back, you wonder if you had been unfair. Your father was awful, however, your mother was- well,  _ less _ awful.

You stormed towards the barn and flung your saddlebags over you horse. Her name was Athena and you’d had her since she was a foal. She wasn't very fast but she could run for ages. Just before you pulled yourself up onto the saddle, your nanny, Tilma, shuffled in. 

“Nan!” you said, surprised. Tilma had been good to you, loosening your corset when your mother tightened it too much and sneaking your sugar biscuits. Sometimes, she’d take you out to the woods, where she’d point out all the birds and identify their forlorn calls.

Tilma didn’t say much, only gave you a small pouch of coin and her weathered survivalist guide. You knew better to refuse her offer and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She squeezed your hand, and waved you off with a bittersweet smile.

You bought the cabin from a man named Meeko. Life was good, and you felt free. The cabin did need some work, but you didn’t mind. Tilma had always said that something seemed far sweeter when it was drenched it your blood, sweat and tears. 

You were out collecting deadwood for you fire when you heard them. The galloping sounds of horses and hollering men. On edge, as no one ever ventured out here, you dropped the deadwood and fled to you cabin, locking the door. 

Your stomach dropped when you saw your father and some of his friends circled outside. Gods be damned, couldn't he leave you alone?

 “Girl! I know you're in there!” he shouted. ' _Girl?'_ you thought. Apparently, when you’d been disowned, you had lost you name as well.

“No, sorry, no girls in here. Only sad old spinsters who didn’t listen to their fathers.” you shouted through the door. You heard your father grumble something under his breath. Knowing his temperament, it was probably cursing. 

 Oh but it felt good to spit his venom back at him. 

“Grab the horse.” he called to a friend. You heard Athena shuffle and whiny, but you stayed firmly planted where you were. It was a decision that clenched your heart and every muscle tense.  

Perhaps you were heartless, but a horse was of far less value than your freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, now i'm making references to Skyrim now. It’s a vicious cycle. 
> 
> Yo i'm not gonna lie, --- comments made me want to keep writing. Hehe, sorry I thrive off of praise.


	6. The Plight of Heroes and Villains Alike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mud.  
> An oh boy is this relationship ever a slow burn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for y'all because im a shite that wont write for 3 months and then write like a madman and then shove my stories at y'all

“Well, I  _ meant _ I  _ would _ know where it was,  _ if  _ I saw the forest and entryway around it.” You defended yourself. _"I know where the Observatory is!"_ you'd said. Perhaps it was a poor choice of words. 

Connor relented with a huff, and the two of you continued trudging through the wet bog.  The summers in New York had always seemed nearly unbearable. But here, the air was so stifling and the forest was so humid, you were sure you'd just melt into a puddle. 

A woman's scream sounded nearby and your heart clenched in fear. Alarmed, you began to scan the dense woodlands around you. 

A bird was perched in a nearby tree ruffling it's feathers of green and gold. It's beak opened and it let out another shrill cry, imitating a lady's scream.

If you didn't know better, you'd say it was the Anti-Christ himself. 

Connor was just slightly ahead of you. He took long strides, his feet well acquainted with the treacherousness of forest floors. While stepping through the deep mud, your boot got caught. 

Yanking your foot out was fairly easy. Getting your foot out _with_ the boot however- well, that was impossible. 

Hesitantly you gently placed your foot in the mud, wincing as the clumpy brown water seeped through your stocking. Connor called your name and you looked up and was met face to face with a rugged blond sailor, dressed in a pirate captain's gear. Stumbling backwards, your arms flailed and the blond pirate's image began to ripple like a pebble hitting the surface of a pond. His features blended and shifted before settling back into Connor's familiar face. 

"Are you alright?" he asked cautiously. 

"Yes, thank you for asking," you said primly. You must have looked a fool, flailing around, losing your boot and some of your mind. 

Connor nodded and continued forward. Somehow, his dismissal of your plight only made your feel stronger. Perhaps, he didn't want a lady? Maybe he just wanted someone who just wanted to trek through muddy bogs with. Maybe... 

Suddenly, instead of trees, you were greeted with a structure carved with intricate artwork dating back to a time when you were not you, yet you lived. 

The Observatory.

 

* * *

**Modern Day, Abstergo Industries**

Doctor Gramatica was leaning back on his chair, sprawled out like a pretentious...

"You want us to spend millions of dollars to explore an uninhibited section of the Caribbeans for... a boot from the 1700s? 

Put into those exact words, it did sound a little absurd, the employee could agree.

Doctor Gramatica waved his hand, the pen he held flipping from finger to finger. "And what makes her different from the other sages?" He leaned forward. "Why is she so special?"

"Well sir-"

"Doctor." he interrupted firmly.

The employee ignored him and continued on with their explanation.

"This sage is unlike any we've ever seen before. The visions meld with her time, and more recently, Edward Kenway's time. The employee took a deep breath. "Her DNA could be of great value and hold exactly what your experiment needs." The employee finished in a last ditch attempt to convince the doctor.

He stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, his lips stretched into a single, thin, line.\

"Alright. I'll see what I can do about processing the request."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy my dudes, get ready for the next chapter, its gonna be crazy im so excited to write it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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